Bewitched
by StarryDreamer01
Summary: Sam thinks he's at the lowest he can possibly be when Celery hands him a small, black silk bag.


A/N: Years ago I was in Salem, Massachusetts and visited a Wiccan shop. I actually purchased what Celery gives Sam in this story. Can't say that it worked for me, but it's an interesting thought nonetheless. Couldn't resist adding a little Wiccan magic into the mix!

Assume that Sam has broken up with Marlo (or doesn't exist).

* * *

Rumours are swirling throughout 15 that Andy is dating Collins. He's suspected as much as it wouldn't be the first time that a UC mission turned out that way. He's afraid to ask for confirmation and just the thought of it makes him want to punch a wall. He doesn't dare mention it to anyone as he and Andy had made an agreement. They are_ friends _now.

Sam thinks he's at the lowest he can possibly be when Celery hands him a small, black silk bag with four coloured rocks in it and tells him to keep it on his left side.

(In a pocket is fine, she advises. Next to the can of mace hooked on his belt, less advisable. But also okay.)

He raises his eyebrows and looks at Oliver as if to say, _is she for real_? But his friend just shrugs his shoulders.

"Wiccan tricks," Oliver says with a wink and waves his fingers in the air like he's Houdini working a Vegas stage.

Sam sighs. His friend has officially gone off the deep end. "Rocks? Really?" He kind of misses moody, brooding Oliver. New Oliver is happy, decidedly in love and drags his friends to places with names like "The Broom Closet" and "The Oracle Chamber."

Celery laughs and encircles Sam's hand within her own. "I'd call them stones, but yes. Rocks." She shares a look with Oliver. "Trust me." Sam bites back a question. He gets the sense that they're up to something. "Are you going to tell me my future next?" He quips instead.

She laughs again and drops his hand. "I'm not clairvoyant. For that you need to make an appointment with Charice." She points to a sign above the cash register. "She's in on Tuesdays…"

He can't decide if she's teasing him, but he gives a firm no. "That's quite alright," he adds for extra measure.

"Remember," she says. "Keep the bag on your left for the next two weeks. Then come back and we'll see if they need to be recharged."

_Recharged?_ He stares at the bag which is no larger than the palm of his hand.

Celery sees his confusion. "By the sun, silly," she says. "They're just stones. They won't come alive on you." Her eyes narrow warningly. "Just believe that they'll work," she adds.

"Believe that they'll work? I don't even know what they're supposed to do!"

_There's that look again_, he thinks when she turns toward Oliver. "I think you do," Celery says with such certainty that he wonders what she knows.

He's never believed in magic, in fact he thinks it's a lot of hokum. The only reason he's even bothering to tuck the small bag into his pocket is because Oliver had begged him for the favour. He said he'd needed to impress his new girlfriend and Sam owed him, after all. For what, he's not sure, but he figures the list must be long. And so Sam makes sure that the bag finds its way to his utility belt when he's working, hidden behind the attachment that holds his handcuffs.

When he questions Oliver about what the stones mean, his friend shuffles away, suspiciously muttering something about figuring it out for himself.

At first he hopes the magic rocks will bring him wealth and intends to buy a LottoMax ticket after shift for the $50 million draw. Stupidly, however, he forgets his wallet at home. He's certain it's likely sitting next to his lunch on the kitchen counter and waves goodbye to his chances at early retirement.

When his stomach roars to life with an embarrassing rumble just as Andy is dropping off her notes from the Kepler case, he swears it's a coincidence. She laughs and says she was just heading for lunch and asks if he wants to join her. He sheepishly explains his momentary financial crisis and she waves him off, saying that she's happy to pay.

_They're friends after all._ What's a meal between friends?

She orders a knish, while he opts for a smoked meat sandwich at Caplansky's. They manage to snag the last empty table in the place and when she points toward the window and says, "what's that?" He looks. He knows full well that she's making an assault on his fries but turns away just the same. When he accuses her of her theft, she looks to the heavens and with a mouth full of fries, pleads ignorance. "Why would I want your fries? Even if they are crispy and warm and delicious…"

With a smile he wordlessly passes her the mini paper cup filled with ketchup and she greedily grabs another fry from his plate and dunks it, quickly popping it into her mouth. She licks her finger for extra dramatic effect and it makes him laugh.

What they talk about for the remainder of their lunch break, he can't remember. He just knows that the conversation is fluid and without hesitation. It all seems _familiar_.

When they return to the station, he's still laughing at some joke or another that she's told him and he realizes then that he hasn't really laughed like that in months. He's about to tell her as much when Traci interrupts them as they walk through the sallyport. There's been a robbery at the TD Bank on Bathurst and they've been called to investigate. Instead, he finds himself quickly thanking her for lunch before turning and following Traci out to the car park.

When it becomes clear that it's not wealth that the rocks will bring him, he thinks that maybe it's for good health. He's confident he has his answer until what he thinks can only be described as the plague, hits him like a ton of a bricks.

It's been years since Sam has taken a sick day for a legitimate sickness and when the flu strikes, he's incapacitated, barely able to get off the couch to return to bed. When he calls in to work, it's Andy who answers the phone and immediately she's asking him if he's okay, if he needs anything and if can she call someone for him. He replies in the negative to all of her questions and quickly hangs up before stumbling to the washroom for what seems like the 10th time that morning.

He thinks a few hours have passed when he's startled awake by the doorbell ringing. Groaning, he rolls himself from the couch and staggers to his feet. The doorbell rings again with more urgency. He catches his reflection in a hallway mirror— his hair is on its end and his face is pale and washed out. He thinks that if it's a Girl Guide, she'll probably run screaming.

It's not a Girl Guide. When he opens the door, he finds Andy, hands laden with bags.

"How're you feeling?" She asks, concerned. Before he has a chance to answer, she's pushing past him and into his house. She heads directly to his kitchen and begins to unpack her shopping bags.

He thinks he mumbles a response, but his gut retches a little and he's in the washroom again, his face practically kissing the toilet seat.

It's a good 10 minutes before he's able to stand again and once he's rinsed his mouth out, he returns to the kitchen where Andy hands him a glass.

"Ginger ale," she says, dropping a straw into the liquid. "Drink it. It'll help settle your stomach." He nods and does as she instructs, even though he feels like a 10 year old when he drinks from the straw. He takes a seat at the kitchen table and notices that he's already starting to feel better. He wonders momentarily if it's really all because of some ginger ale.

"I brought you chicken noodle soup too." She holds up a thermos. "Do you think you might be able to stomach it?" He replies in the affirmative and she easily moves through his kitchen, pulling a bowl from the cupboard and a spoon from a drawer.

He can barely string words together, but she doesn't care. While he slowly dips saltines into his soup, she begins to clean up his mess of a kitchen. When he protests, reminding her that she's technically a guest in his house, she _pshaws_ and runs a j-cloth across the counter. "You're sick. I'm happy to help where I can."

When he's eaten as much as he can of the soup, she orders him to his room. "Your couch is no place for a sick person to be," she chastises. "Besides your bedroom is closest to the washroom in case you need to… you know."

And does he.

He wonders why he was on the couch in the first place and then realizes that he'd actually intended to go to work that morning. He'd even managed to shower and dress before collapsing on the couch in a cold sweat, gripping the phone. Andy pulls out his favourite sweatpants and t-shirt from his dresser and lays them on his bed.

"These will probably be more comfortable," she suggests. It's too late though because he can already feel himself beginning to fall asleep the second his head hits the pillow. When he awakens, hours later, he feels much better. His head is swept of the figurative cobwebs and his stomach feels sated. For a second he wonders if he'd actually hallucinated Andy's earlier presence, until he sees a glass of ginger ale with a straw on his nightstand next to a note.

_There's more chicken soup on the stove and I left the bottle of ginger ale in the fridge.  
Call me if you need anything. Seriously. Anything.  
-A.  
P.S. I mean it.  
P.P.S. Who wears jeans when they're sick?_

After his sickness, he's almost certain the rocks will at the least bring him luck, if not wealth and health. That is until a perp punches him in the nose during an interrogation, leaving him clutching his bloodied face. He's quick to decline an ambulance; he doesn't think his nose is broken, it just seems to be bleeding. A lot.

Frank scrambles for the First Aid kit and hands Sam a wad of rolled up gauze. He would laugh at the hilarity of the situation if it didn't hurt to do so. When a call comes in from Inspector Sanchez over at head office, Frank is relieved to pass the kit on to someone else, anyone else. He grabs the first person he sees in the hallway and sends Andy in to tend to Sam's injury.

"What happened to you?" She asks, taking the chair next to him. Andy reaches into the kit and pulls on a pair of latex gloves. She holds her hand out and takes the now bloody wad of gauze from Sam. "No offence, but you look disgusting."

"Thanks," he replies, miserably. His nose stings and a sharp pain reverberates into his skull.

"I'm hopeful that the other guy looks worse."

"Sadly, he doesn't. Epstein grabbed him before I even had a chance. He's in holding."

"Ouch. That's too bad. Lucky for him though." She hands him a cotton ball. "You sure you don't want to go the hospital?"

"Yeah," he replies, shrugging his shoulders. "It's not that bad."

Andy reaches over with an alcohol wipe and cleans the dried blood from his face. "Says the guy who hasn't seen a mirror yet."

He blows out a puff of air from his mouth and all he tastes is blood. "Not good is it?"

She gives him a sympathetic look. "Honestly? It looks broken." Andy hands him another cotton ball as he removes the saturated one from his nose. "Your face is all like this," she scrunches up her nose, cocks up the corner of her lip and furrows her eyebrows, tucking her chin against her neck. "You're like that creepy monster from that movie I hate," she teases.

"Are you talking about Goonies?" He holds the cotton ball to his nose. "I do not look like Sloth!"

"If you say so."

"Also, Goonies is a classic. Who hates a classic?"

"Wait! You're not actually comparing Goonies to a film like Casablanca?" She asks, indignant.

"Yes. Just like you're comparing me to Sloth!" He tries to hold back a laugh to no avail and ends up wincing in pain. "Stop making me laugh!" He sucks in a sharp breath. "It hurts too much."

"Will you go to the hospital then?" She asks, handing him a clean cotton ball.

"Yes. Fine," he relents. "Tell them I'm going to go to the hospital."

"Good!" She closes the lid to the First Aid kit. "Did you want me to drive you?"

Sam shakes his head. "Nah. I should be okay." She walks him to his truck just the same.

He's about to open the door when she grabs his arm and stops him. "You sure you don't want me to come with you?" She asks again.

There's a second where he thinks he might relent, thinks that he does want her to come. That there's nothing that he'd want more than to have her holding his hand when the doctor will surely crack his nose back into place. But then he remembers that they're _just friends_ and he declines.

He can see that she's worried about him, it's riddled across her face. It warms him a bit to know that and he reassures her that he's fine.

"I know." There's a moment of silence between them and he's taken off guard when she suddenly leans forward and presses her lips to his cheek. "Call me when you get there. Okay?" He nods, stunned. She tenderly rubs at the spot on his cheek that she'd kissed, before she turns and heads back into the station, leaving him standing agape at his truck.

Hours later, when he's finally clear to go home, he chances his first glance of his reflection in the mirror. The area around his cheeks are a purple and black mess, and a white tape extends the bridge of his nose. It's a messy sight, but he's happy to be home. When he empties his pockets onto the bench in his hallway, the black silk bag that Celery had given him two weeks earlier falls out next to his keys.

He thinks to himself that he was right all along: magic is a load of nonsense. He's about to toss the stones in the trash when the doorbell rings. It's Andy holding a DVD against her chest.

"I brought you a present!" She says with a smile.

"Please tell me it's not Casablanca…" He says sarcastically, motioning her into the foyer.

"Do you think I would torture an injured man?" He gives her a look that says his answer and she laughs. "Okay, I probably would. But no, I brought you your favourite. Goonies." She turns the DVD so that the cover faces him.

"Good choice." He happily takes the DVD from her and examines the case. "You're welcome to stay and enjoy the cinematic excellence that is the adventures of the Goonies."

"Yeah. Sure. That sounds good." Her voice is suddenly shaky and he wonders if she's nervous for some reason. "How's the nose?" She asks.

"You _knows_…" he says with a smirk, purposefully emphasizing the play on words.

She doesn't laugh.

Instead, she blurts out, "I'm not dating Nick." Her eyes immediately go to her hands where she's wringing them at her stomach. "I mean, I never was," she adds quickly. "I know people at the station have been talking and I just— I wanted you to know."

He nods, speechless. He's unsure of what precipitated this confession, but he's grateful nonetheless. "Okay," he says at last.

"I mean— I just—" She stops and closes her eyes, gathering her thoughts. "I still need some time. To figure things out."

"Okay," he says again. And it is okay. He loves this woman and if she needs time, he will give her the time.

Sam is about to ask her if she wants anything to eat when she cuts off whatever words he was going to use by stepping toward him and pressing her mouth to his. Her lips, soft and warm, yield to his and his body instantly yearns for hers. When they part, breathless and lips swollen, he feels intoxicated. A million words fight to be spoken.

Instead, they both remain silent, staring at the other.

It's Andy that breaks the silence first. "That didn't, like, hurt your nose did it? " Her face breaks into a grin. She's teasing him and he can't help but laugh. He's not sure what to make of the kiss but he thinks it might be a promise. A promise that there can still be a future between them.

Andy falls asleep somewhere around the discovery of One-Eyed Willie's ship. He's tempted to rouse her from her sleep— it's getting to the best part— but decides he enjoys the achingly familiar feeling of her body tucked against his.

When Rosalita is about to discover the marble bag filled with jewels, Sam's phone vibrates. Careful not to wake Andy, he reaches for it and answers with a whispered hello.

"Sammy! How's the nose?" Oliver asks.

"In tact."

"Good. Good. Listen, Celery wanted me to ask you how the stones have worked for you. It's been two weeks."

Sam is about to tell his friend that they were useless; that he could've had better results from rocks pulled from under his deck, when Andy stirs next to him. He looks down at her, nestled in the crook of his arm and it hits him.

_Love._

"What's that?" Oliver says. "What did you say?"

"Never mind," Sam corrects, quickly. "Tell Celery— tell her I think they worked."

There's a brief pause and then Oliver, with a smile in his voice says, "tell Andy we said hi."

A warmth echoes through Sam. With as flat and sarcastic of a voice that he can muster, he replies: "Goodbye, Oliver."

The credits are rolling by the time he's putting his phone back onto the coffee table. Andy is still fast asleep against him and he decidedly turns the film and television off. A silence reverberates through the room and only the sound of Andy's light breathing fills the space. For the first time in months he feels at peace. He tightens his hold around Andy's shoulder and pulls her further against him. A happy sound escapes her lips and she instinctively curls herself into him.

Sam thinks that for once, maybe he does believe in magic.

**.:FIN:.**

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